


Down Among the Saints

by sevenfists



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-13
Updated: 2009-01-13
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: In which Merlin discovers his unusual parentage.





	

**Author's Note:**

> stungunbilly gave me the idea, but as for the writing part I have nobody to blame but myself. Thanks to esorlehcar beta reading. 
> 
> Warning for some minor consent issues.

The feast was still in full swing: Arthur, drunk, was laughing loudly at a story one of the knights was telling him, and the visiting nobles looked suitably awed by the evening's glories, the rich banquet spread and the freely-flowing wine. Merlin's head hurt. He'd been feeling odd and itchy for several days now, and overly warm, as though fire ants were crawling beneath his skin, and he decided to take advantage of Arthur's distraction and slip out into the corridor for a moment, just to cool off and take some air.

The corridor wasn't much of an improvement. It was midsummer, and the castle was at its stuffiest and most dreadful; but it was quieter, at least, and nobody was imperiously raising his goblet to be refilled, as if he hadn't already overindulged and as if Merlin wouldn't be the one to cope with the hangover and subsequent complaining.

He gave himself a few moments, and then drew a breath and prepared to return to the feast; but just then one of the kitchen girls passed by, and she smiled at him, her eyelids flickering down and then back up in that flirtatious way girls had. Merlin smiled back, not meaning anything by it, but the girl stopped and put one hand one her hip and looked him up and down.

"Hello," Merlin said, feeling that somebody ought to say something at this point.

"Oh _yes_ ," the girl said, and stepped forward and kissed him, and Merlin was too surprised to do anything but kiss back; and then things got very confusing, and Merlin's hand somehow found its way under the girl's skirts and into the warm, slick place between her thighs, and then she was pushing him down onto the floor and straddling his lap and then— _Oh_.

"You're delightful," she told him, when it was all over, and kissed Merlin's gaping mouth, and then got up and rearranged her clothes, winked at him, and sauntered off. Merlin stayed where he was on the floor, his trousers open, and tried to figure out what had just happened. It wasn't that he hadn't lain with anyone before—there was little else to do in Ealdor all winter, after all, and no lack of willing partners—it was just that ordinarily there was some sort of preamble, a few flowers exchanged, a few sweet kisses behind the stables. Ordinarily he at least knew the girl's _name_.

No explanation came to him, so Merlin tucked himself away and ran a hand through his hair, trying to fix the worst of it, and then went back into the shouting and the light.

"Where have you been?" Arthur demanded. His shirt had come unlaced halfway down his chest. He waved his goblet in Merlin's face. "Refill my wine, Merlin." Then he narrowed his eyes and got that suspicious look on his face, as though he could see directly into Merlin's brain and knew everything that Merlin had done for the last five years. "What have you been up to? You look flushed."

"It's a bit warm in here," Merlin said.

"That it is," Arthur said. "Observant as always." He tilted his goblet meaningfully in Merlin's direction, and Merlin sighed and filled it to the rim.

Arthur was a beast in the morning. He refused to rise from his bed until Merlin heated water for a bath, even though Arthur had bathed the day before, in preparation for the feast; and then he demanded all sorts of elaborate food, some of which Merlin was fairly certain didn't exist. "You should not have let me drink so much," Arthur said, scowling at Merlin.

"I don't see how this is my fault," Merlin said. "Even if I had told you to stop, you'd have had me thrown in the stocks for—for a _week_."

"Lies," Arthur said. He gulped down the tea Merlin had brought and grimaced. "Bloody—what _is_ that?"

"Gaius gave it to me," Merlin said. "To help with your head."

"Get out," Arthur snapped, and Merlin rolled his eyes and left.

Arthur sought him out later that afternoon, looking for Merlin to polish his armor for the tourney the next day, and by then he was all smiles and good humor, which Merlin knew was Arthur's way of apologizing for being so wretched. Arthur even polished his own cuirass, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. It wasn't adorable at all. Merlin rubbed harder at the vambraces. It was a pleasant day, milder than it had been, and Arthur had thrown open the windows in his room so that a breeze came through. Children were laughing in the courtyard below, high and happy, and Merlin was utterly content to sit there for the rest of the day, working in calm silence with Arthur.

"Right," Arthur said, ruining it, "run this down to the armory for me. It's got a few broken links in the sleeve here, and I need it repaired by tomorrow morning."

"Right away, sire," Merlin said, taking the proffered hauberk, and gave his best, most innocent smile in response to the look Arthur shot him.

He trotted down to the armory. The apprentice manning the intake counter was a boy Merlin didn't recognize, but he smiled at Merlin and said, "Need some help today?"

"Prince Arthur needs this fixed for the tourney tomorrow," Merlin said, and showed the apprentice the damaged links in the mail. "Is there any chance it could be done by morning?"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be able to take care of it for you," the boy said, propping his elbows on the counter and leaning toward Merlin. His eyelashes were very dark against his pale skin. "Was there anything else you needed?"

"Oh, not right now," Merlin said. "But thank you."

"If you'd like to wait, it shouldn't take more than a half hour," the boy said, and then he came around the counter and wrapped his arms around Merlin's neck and tilted his face up, and Merlin, helpless, did the only thing he could think of and kissed the boy's smiling mouth.

"Come here," the boy said. He took Merlin's hand and led him to a small side room, filled with dusty axes and half-rotted leather armor, and dropped to his knees and mouthed at Merlin's cock through his trousers.

"We shouldn't—you don't have to," Merlin said, bewildered and desperately turned on, but the apprentice ignored him and made fast work of the laces, and then took Merlin into his mouth. Merlin wasn't so much of a fool that he would argue. He slid his hands into the boy's thick hair and moaned when it seemed appropriate, and came much faster than he would have liked to admit.

"My turn," the apprentice said, and Merlin gladly sank to the floor and shoved both hands into the boy's trousers, and winced when the boy sunk his teeth into the side of Merlin's neck. It was going to leave a bruise, no doubt, and Arthur would be insufferable.

By the time they were done and cleaned up, Arthur's hauberk had been fixed, and Merlin delivered it straight to Arthur's rooms, pleased that he had an excuse for his delay. "I waited there to make sure they repaired it," he told Arthur, "and they did, so now you should be ready."

"That's good," Arthur said, and then, "What's that on your neck?"

"Oh, ah, is there something there?" Merlin said.

"It looks like a bruise," Arthur said. He abandoned the glove he was fiddling with and stepped closer to Merlin, brushed his fingers against Merlin's neck. Merlin's breath caught. "Have you been letting someone bite you?"

" _No_ ," Merlin said, "it's a—spider bite."

"I see," Arthur said. He was smirking. "You'd best be careful, I'll not having you dying of insect poison and neglecting my boots for another day."

"Oh," Merlin said, "right, I was meant to polish those, wasn't I."

"You were," Arthur said, "and you're to attend me at the feast tonight, so you ought to get to it."

"There's another feast?" Merlin said, dismayed.

"I won't make you wear the hat this time," Arthur said.

"How can I ever repay your kindness," Merlin said dryly, and Arthur pointed a stern finger at him and said, "My _boots_ , Merlin."

***

The feast that night was even worse than the last: the room was hotter and noisier, and Merlin's throat remained parched no matter how much water he drank. Arthur had got himself into conversation with the daughter of visiting Lord Whatever-His-Name-Was, and seemed enchanted by the expanse of creamy white bosom revealed by her low-cut dress. The upside was that he forgot to demand Merlin attend to his wine goblet, and Merlin was able to sneak out every fifteen minutes to cool down and attempt to stop his head from spinning.

"What's wrong with you?" Arthur asked, after Merlin returned from one of his forays. "You keep disappearing. Are you feeling well?"

"I—not really," Merlin said, because there would be no point in pretense when he passed out cold at Arthur's feet. "I think—the spider bite, maybe, I feel—"

"You should have said something," Arthur said, frowning. "Go have Gaius attend to you, and if you aren't feeling better tomorrow, I don't expect to see your face at all, tourney or no."

Merlin said, "But—"

"I don't want to hear it!" Arthur said. "I can't have you infecting me with your spider germs right before I'm set to be attacked by men with large swords. It's your duty as a loyal servant to protect your prince from any hazards, and in this case, the hazard is you."

"Oh, you're so _kindly_ and _generous_ ," Lady What's-Her-Face cooed, her hand on Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur raised his eyebrows at Merlin, a clear dismissal. Merlin went.

Gaius was still awake, sitting at his table reading a book by candlelight, and when Merlin stumbled in he looked up and said, "Good heavens, boy, what's the matter with you?"

"I don't know," Merlin said. "Do I really look that poorly? Arthur sent me away from the feast, but I'm not sure—"

"Into bed with you immediately," Gaius said. "Are you running a fever? Come along, then," and he herded Merlin into his room and waited while Merlin dressed for bed and slipped beneath the covers.

"I think I'll be okay," Merlin said weakly, "really, Gaius, I'm sure it's nothing—"

"Nonsense," Gaius said, and felt Merlin's forehead. "Hmm. You don't seem to have a fever. Have you eaten anything unusual lately?"

"No," Merlin said. "I haven't done anything out of the ordinary. I woke up, I did Arthur's bidding all day, I went to the feast, I came here." He decided to leave out the part with the armory boy. There were certain things Gaius didn't need to know.

"All right," Gaius said. "Well, I can't see that you're in any immediate danger, so get some sleep and we'll see how you're feeling in the morning."

Merlin woke before dawn, ready to twitch right out of his skin. He felt better than he had the previous night—or maybe not better, but _different_ ; less like he was coming down sick, and more like there was something he needed to do, or somewhere he needed to be. He dressed in the dark and tiptoed out of his room; there was no sign of Gaius, and it was easy enough to slip out and down the stairs and out into the courtyard, where there were servants and townspeople about already, running their quiet errands in the faint pre-dawn light.

Merlin didn't have any particular destination in mind; he just wandered about the castle grounds for a bit, letting his feet take him where they would, and wasn't surprised when he ended up at the stables. He liked the horses—not so much the part where he had to ride them himself, but he enjoyed how their heads poked over their stall doors when he approached, and the way they nickered softly and sniffed at his hands, and greedily ate the carrots he sometimes managed to bring.

The stables were quiet at this hour, the grooms just rising and beginning their morning rounds of feeding and grooming and mucking out. Merlin knew he was welcome as long as he kept out of the way. He went down to the end of the barn, where Arthur's horse, Honeysuckle, was stabled. She knew Merlin well by now, and made friendly noises at him in greeting, and let him pet her long nose and murmur to her about how good and lovely she was.

"Like that one, do you?" a voice said, and Merlin turned to see one of the grooms smiling at him, feed bucket in her hands. "If you'll move for just a moment—"

"Oh, sorry," Merlin said, and stepped aside to let her empty the bucket into Honeysuckle's feed bin.

"It's no trouble," the groom said, and patted Honeysuckle on the face. "She's glad to have visitors, spoiled thing." She looked at Merlin and pursed her mouth. "Well, come on, then. This way."

"Where are we going?" Merlin asked, but he followed her anyway.

She led him up a ladder to the hayloft, and Merlin should have seen it coming by then, but he was still surprised when she tumbled him down into a pile of hay and started pulling at his trousers.

"Wait, wait," Merlin gasped, "we shouldn't, I'm not, you're—"

"I want this," she murmured. "I'm wet for you. Do you really not want to?"

"I, um," Merlin said, and then got distracted by kissing her, and before he knew it he was sucking on her nipples while she touched herself, and then he was inside her and she was rocking her hips up into his, and it was so good, it was better than he could have possibly imagined.

He left just after the sun rose, and was knocking on Arthur's door with a breakfast tray early enough that Arthur was still in bed, squinty-faced against his pillows.

"You're feeling better, then, are you," Arthur said, tucking into his breakfast while Merlin laid out clothing for the day.

"Oh. Yes," Merlin said, and realized it was true: the itchiness had vanished completely, and he felt almost normal again. "I suppose I'll be at the tourney today."

"Make sure you cheer for the right person," Arthur said.

"That would be your opponent, right?" Merlin said, and grinned when Arthur sputtered in outrage.

"Go bother Gaius for a while," Arthur said. "No, I mean it, out of my sight. Honestly, Merlin, I'm quite sure I can dress myself for one day."

"My Lord," Merlin said, executing an elaborate bow, and backed out of the room before Arthur could take him to task for impudence.

Gaius was awake, boiling something viscous and distinctly orange. "Now, where have you been?" he asked Merlin, who gave up all faint dreams of sneaking into his room without being seen.

"With Arthur," Merlin said. "Then he threw me out, so I thought I'd see if you needed any herbs gathered."

"I was planning to give you the day off to recover from your illness," Gaius said, "but seeing as how you're so much improved, you may bring me some fresh hyssop and wormwort."

Merlin took a bag with him and left the castle, happy to have an excuse to be outside—the itchiness was returning, and walking helped, and the warm morning air. It was a bright day, the sky unclouded. Merlin headed along the path out of the castle and down through the village, enjoying the early bustle of the market and the contented comings and goings of the townspeople.

He passed Gwen's house, and she was outside, beating rugs. Merlin stopped to greet her, and then thought better of it, what with how strange everyone had been acting lately; but by then it was too late, Gwen had spotted him, and she set down her wire rug beater and smiled at him.

"Merlin! Where are you off to this early?" she asked.

"Herbs for Gaius," Merlin said. He avoided making eye contact, afraid that any moment she was going to kiss him or pull up her skirts or do something else disturbing and unexpected. "Will you be at the tourney later?"

"Of course," Gwen said. "Morgana is going, and you know how she likes me to accompany her. Oh—I don't mean to say that it's a burden, I certainly enjoy it, and it's nice to see Prince Arthur win—"

"And plus you enjoy accompanying Morgana," Merlin teased, and was surprised to see Gwen flush and her mouth tug into a half-smile, as though she were helpless to stop it coming. Well, maybe that explained why she wasn't throwing herself at him. Merlin was glad that at least _somebody_ hadn't utterly lost their senses.

"Morgana is a kind mistress," Gwen said, and then she picked up her rug beater again. "I'd best finish these, I need to be back at the castle in time to—"

"Yes, of course," Merlin said. "I'll see you later, then," and they waved at each other, all very normal. Maybe the last two days had been some sort of odd fluke, and now it was over and Merlin wouldn't have to worry about it again.

***

Arthur won the tourney handily, dispatching his competitors with a few careful twists of his sword, and the feast started immediately thereafter: Arthur still sweat-slick in his hauberk and cloak, and the losers drinking copiously and bragging about past victories. Merlin ran about with the wine pitcher, keeping goblets filled.

The itchiness had returned, worse than ever, and it was all Merlin could do to attend to his duties. He longed to escape to the relative quiet of the corridor outside, but Arthur had been watching him all evening, and Merlin couldn't slip away unnoticed. He attempted to use his magic to calm himself, but it did nothing to soothe the hot fire beneath his skin. There was nothing for it but to suffer through until the feast was done and he could return to his room.

"Merlin," Arthur called, beckoning him over with the twitch of two fingers. Merlin crossed to Arthur's side and leaned down so that Arthur wouldn't have to bellow to be heard over the noise of the feast. This close, Arthur smelled very much like sweat and leather, and the sweet honey mead he'd been drinking.

"Sire?" Merlin asked, doing his very best impression of helpful, eager manservant.

"We're leaving," Arthur said. "You'll have to chip me out of my armor with an axe if I stay here much longer. Go on and get a bath started for me."

"You mean I don't have to stay here?" Merlin asked, overwhelmed with relief, and Arthur laughed at him and said, "I do mean. Run along."

Merlin, grateful beyond words for his early release, jogged through the corridors to Arthur's rooms. He turned down the bed, opened the windows, and heated the bathwater—using magic, of course, but he lit a small fire for appearance's sake. The work helped to distract him from the constant hot buzzing that was jangling through him, making his nerves spark.

It wasn't long before Arthur came clomping down the hallway and threw open the door, already tugging at his clothing. "I cannot fathom how it was so blasted hot in there," he said, and dropped his cloak on the floor. "Hurry up and get me out of all this before I perish."

Merlin did as he was told and helped Arthur out of his hauberk and tunic, boots, breeches. His skin gleamed in the firelight, and was soft and damp beneath Merlin's hands. It set Merlin's spine tingling to be so close to Arthur, and he kept his eyes on the floor, doing his best not to stare at the broad reach of Arthur's shoulders or the puckered scar from the Questing Beast. He had never been so aware of Arthur's body. "I heated the bath for you," he said, trying to ignore the fact that he was on his knees before Arthur, hands at Arthur's knee and ankle as he removed Arthur's boots.

"Already?" Arthur asked, and Merlin glanced up in time to see Arthur's gaze flick over to the fire, too small to have so quickly heated the water for the bath, and Merlin prayed that the mead had dampened Arthur's curiosity.

"Oh, I. Had one of the other servants help me," Merlin said, and Arthur looked down at him, eyebrows raised, and in that moment Merlin understood that they both knew his flimsy excuse for the lie that it was. His face went cold and then hot, but he met Arthur's eyes straight on, refusing to back down.

"Very well," Arthur said. "Help me bathe."

It was an unusual request, but not unprecedented. Arthur sank into the deep water and tipped his head back against the rim of the tub, letting out a long sigh. Merlin stared at the line of Arthur's throat, the angle of his jaw.

"Well, come on, then," Arthur said sharply, and Merlin scrambled for the soap and cloth. He scrubbed at Arthur's shoulders and chest, a bit hesitant, and then more confident when Arthur neither opened his eyes nor gave any indication that he was even aware Merlin was in the room.

Merlin washed what he could reach, Arthur's arms, his back down to his waist, and then said, "You'll need to stand up, if, ah."

"I can take it from here," Arthur said, and Merlin handed over the soap. He was relieved: that was relief he felt.

He gathered up Arthur's discarded clothing and listened to the soft splashing noises behind him. Arthur was naked in there, slick and scrubbed pink, and Merlin wanted—more than anything, he wanted to kneel down beside the tub again and let his hands learn every part of Arthur's body. He was sweating profusely. He was going to suffocate if he didn't get out of that room.

"Merlin, come here," Arthur said, and Merlin turned without thought and crouched on the cold flagstones and said, "Yes, sire," hoping desperately that his face didn't have his every thought written all over it.

Arthur gazed at him for a moment, unreadable, and then he grasped one of Merlin's hands and drew it into the tub, beneath the water, and between Arthur's legs. Merlin closed his eyes and bit his lip and the soft weight of Arthur's balls against his palm, and he moved his hand higher and there was the hot length of Arthur's cock, hotter even than the bathwater.

Arthur groaned loudly and turned his head toward Merlin. His lips were red and parted, and Merlin figured there was no use closing the barn door at this point, so he leaned forward and kissed Arthur, their mouths meeting gentle at first, exploratory, and then Arthur opened his mouth, and there was tongue, and somebody moaned. Arthur's fingers were still curled around Merlin's wrist. Merlin's fingers were still curled around Arthur's cock.

"I could command you into my bed," Arthur murmured, his mouth only an inch from Merlin's, "but I don't—I would like for you to come gladly."

Merlin shivered, his stomach clenching at the thought of Arthur laid out on those sheets, freshly washed and aching for Merlin's touch. "You don't need to command me," he said, "I will—I want to— _Arthur_ —"

"Come on, then," Arthur said, and rose dripping from the tub, flushed all over and hard. He grabbed his towel from the chair Merlin had draped it over and dried himself off, scrubbing roughly at his hair, and then dropped the towel on the floor and sauntered over to the bed, the muscles in his back flexing as he walked. Merlin stared, mouth dry. Arthur turned his head, one hand on a bedpost, and said, "If you aren't—I don't mean to force you, Merlin, you must say something if you—"

"No," Merlin said, and scrambled to his feet. "I do want, I do," and then he was there with Arthur, kissing him, their bodies pressed together, and Arthur drew him down onto the bed.

Arthur was gentle and cautious, which Merlin hadn't expected. They spent long minutes kissing, Arthur's big hand cupping Merlin's jaw, and it was only after Merlin moaned and squirmed meaningfully that Arthur let his hands wander further south. Merlin was very aware of Arthur's weight over him, that Arthur could easily keep Merlin there against his will, and the thought had Merlin arching his back and spreading his thighs apart, wanting Arthur there, something hot and greedy unfolding in his belly.

"Come on," Merlin gasped, "stop teasing, Arthur, please fuck me, _please_ , I'll beg if you want me to—"

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked quietly, drawing back to look at Merlin, his pupils flared wide with lust. "I don't want to hurt you."

Merlin stared at him, bewildered, and then realized—and he couldn't help himself: he started laughing.

"Why are you laughing!" Arthur snapped, scowling. "I'm not a _brute_ , you know, I don't intend to—"

"I'm not a virgin," Merlin said, "if that's what you're all fussed about." He spread his legs further and rocked his hips against Arthur's.

"Oh," Arthur said. He stared at Merlin, opened his mouth, shut it again. "Well then. In that case." He bent his head again kissed Merlin and groped him thoroughly, and sucked on his throat, and Merlin felt that he was in a haze, mindless and lust-blinded, overwhelmed by the sensation of Arthur's skin beneath his hands. He thought that he ought to be putting in more of an effort, but Arthur seemed more than happy to do most of the work, and Merlin was happy to lie there and clutch at him and moan stupidly.

It got even better when Arthur leaned away to fumble at the bedside table, and came back with slick fingers that he slid into Merlin's arse, just one at first until Merlin whined and said, "More, more, please," rocking back against Arthur's hand. Arthur laughed breathlessly, pulled his fingers out, and hiked Merlin's legs over his shoulders, and Merlin knew what was coming next, but he still gasped when Arthur pushed into him. It had been a while, and it was—this was _Arthur_ , and it was so—it was so much more than Merlin had expected.

"Oh _God_ ," Merlin said, and Arthur groaned and rolled his hips, and it was so good; it was the best Merlin had ever had.

He woke up in the middle of the night, curled into Arthur's side. One of his arms was flung across Arthur's waist. The fire had gone out. He could hear insects buzzing through the open windows. Merlin sat him. He felt clear-headed again. Arthur was sleeping, his arms flung above his head, and Merlin flushed hot the memories of what they'd done, and what they'd done after that. It couldn't have been—the other servants were one thing; Arthur had done his share of snogging in quiet corners, and he'd been able to dismiss it all as a bizarre streak of good luck—but Arthur would never, he would _never_ , and Merlin knew beyond a doubt that his magic was to blame—that for all Arthur's worries about forcing Merlin, it was really the other way around.

There was nothing to be done about it then. Merlin swallowed down the wave of nausea that hit him, and got out of bed to fumble around in the dark for his clothes. He got dressed and left, walking through the silent castle to Gaius' chambers, and he knew already that he would have no more sleep that night. He lay in his bed and watched the moon slowly glide across the sky, east to west.

At dawn, he rose from his bed and washed his face, and went out into the main room. Gaius was already up, arranging herbs on his work table. He smiled at Merlin and said, "Good morning."

"Gaius, I think there's something wrong with me," Merlin said, and the smile dropped off Gaius' face and he said, "Sit down and tell me everything."

So Merlin did, squirming with embarrassment, but he didn't dare leave anything out. "So there were the three of them, and I did think it a bit odd, but then Gwen didn't pay any attention to me, so I thought—but then Arthur—"

"Merlin," Gaius said, "I think it's time you learn some things about your father."

***

"An _incubus_?" Merlin squeaked. "So then I'm—so that makes me—"

"A cambion, yes," Gaius said. "I believe that you've been—unconsciously, of course—coercing people into lying with you."

"Coercing? You mean I've been," and Merlin swallowed hard, and he'd known it already, but it was somehow worse to hear Gaius confirm it. "You mean I _have_ been forcing them them—none of them wanted it, it was just me, it was my magic." His stomach roiled. He had never been less proud of himself—never so disgusted by what he could do.

"Don't be so dramatic," Gaius said. "Part of an incubus' power is the ability to select willing partners. I suspect that's why Gwen was indifferent to your, ah, charms—and why I am, for that matter." He laughed at Merlin's horrified expression. "I do not believe anyone came to you reluctantly, and I'm sure they all have good memories of the experience." He smiled. "Depending, of course, on your performance."

Merlin still felt ill, but Gaius' words did reassure him; and it was true that none of them had seemed anything but eager, even—even Arthur. But still: none of it would have happened if it weren't for Merlin's magic. "I have to know how to stop it," he said. "I can't—I won't do this to anyone else. No matter what you say, they weren't acting of their own free will, and I can't—I know I will do my share of evil in my life, Gaius. I won't add this to my list of wrongdoings."

Gaius looked at him, his expression full of sympathy. "I believe I know how to solve this problem of yours, but it may take a day or two. I suggest you remain here for the duration."

"Yes," Merlin said, "yes, of course, but Arthur will be—"

"Let me speak to him," Gaius said. "You stay here and finish sorting this herbs for me."

"Yes, Gaius," Merlin said, and bent to the task.

The day dragged by interminably. Merlin did his best to focus on the herbs, and then on the cleaning and organizing that Gaius set him to, but he couldn't stop thinking about Arthur: Arthur's mouth, and the way he had looked at Merlin and said, "You know that I," and how Merlin had said, "Yes." It was terrible. Gwen came by to talk to him about Morgana's new dress or something, and Merlin knew he must have said the right things at the right times, because Gwen went away smiling; but he didn't remember any of it.

Shortly before dinner, there was a knock on the door, and Merlin called, "Yes, come in," without thinking; and then immediately regretted it, because it was Arthur who came in, still sweaty from practice and looking oddly nervous.

"Gaius told me you'd contracted some sort of horrific disease, but you look all right to me," Arthur said. "Are you skiving off?"

"No," Merlin said, "well, yes, but it's not—you don't understand."

"Try me," Arthur said, folding his arms and looking really quite menacing.

"Oh, well, it's. I can't really go into it now," Merlin said, and scratched at one of his ears. Arthur was making him feel twitchy.

"Is this about last night?" Arthur demanded. "Because I thought I'd made it clear that you were under no obligation to—"

"No, no, I know that," Merlin said, "it's not." He swallowed. "I just think it would be for the best if that didn't happen again."

"Oh," Arthur said. "Right." He turned and left the room without another word, and Merlin stared after him, using every ounce of his willpower not to run after Arthur and kiss him and beg him not to go.

Merlin spent a long, sweaty night tossing in his bed, wracked by dreams of Arthur, and he was grateful beyond the telling of it when morning finally came around again and he could get out of bed and eat breakfast and busy himself with rearranging Gaius' books. He hoped Gaius would find an answer soon, because Merlin was—he didn't think he could go on like this, cooped up in Gaius' quarters all day.

Around noon, Gaius showed up in the company of a wizened old man, even older and more stooped than Gaius. Merlin hopped up from his meal and said, "Oh, Gaius—I didn't know we were to have company, I would have—"

"Settle down, Merlin," Gaius said. "This is Father Stephen. He's here to help you with your problem."

"With my—oh," Merlin said. He was naturally suspicious of priests, seeing as how most of them wanted to tie him to a stake and burn him; but he trusted Gaius more than anyone, even more than Arthur, and if Gaius thought this was how to fix Merlin, then fine; Merlin would go along with it.

"We will perform an exorcism," Father Stephen said, in his creaky old voice. He had Merlin lie down on his bed and close his eyes and hold a bowl filled with a mixture of dried herbs. There was some chanting, and some incense, and Merlin felt as though he were floating very far away from his body. He felt Gaius holding his hand, and heard Gaius saying, "It's okay, Merlin, everything's fine," and then he let go completely and let himself drift away.

He came back after a long, quiet expanse of time. Father Stephen was gone, and Gaius was sitting by the bed, reading a book. Merlin stretched, and groaned happily as his spine cracked. Gaius set down his book and said, "So how do you feel, then?"

"Fine," Merlin said. "Did it work? Am I—"

"Father Stephen said the spirit has been cast out of you," Gaius said, "so I believe that you have made a full recovery."

"And you're _sure_ ," Merlin said. "I won't accidentally—twitch my eyebrow or something, and having Uther fall all over me."

"Oh dear, I certainly hope not," Gaius said, and laughed. "No, you're fine, my boy, you shouldn't have any further troubles. Now, I believe Prince Arthur has been looking for you."

The relief Merlin had been feeling vanished, and was replaced by dread. "I can't—I thought you told him I was sick."

"I did, and then I told him you were recovered," Gaius said. "He'd like for you to take him his dinner and do some mending. And I believe the two of you have some important matters to discuss."

Merlin groaned and let his head thump back onto the pillow.

He did go to Arthur's rooms, though: he couldn't _not_ go, after all; he was Arthur's servant first and foremost, before anything else. He stood outside the door for a few long minutes before he knocked, trying to gather his courage, but there was no helping it; he would have to face Arthur eventually, and he might as well have it done with.

"Yes, set it on the table there," Arthur said, when he opened the door to let Merlin in. His hair was tousled and had hay stuck in it. He looked amazing. Merlin couldn't breathe. "I hope it's better than that slop they brought me last night. Standards are slipping."

"It's pheasant," Merlin said, "and fresh greens, and the cook told me this bread just came out of the oven, so it ought to be quite warm still, and—"

"Quit babbling," Arthur said. He lifted the lid off the tray and made a face. "You've made your disinterest very clear, so you don't need to worry that I'll pursue the matter any further."

"That's not it," Merlin said. He lifted the plates off the tray and arranged them on the table, avoiding Arthur's eyes. "It's just—you wouldn't have done it of your own volition, and I'm—I didn't _mean_ to force you, but that doesn't change the fact that I did, and—"

"Wait a minute," Arthur said. He caught Merlin's wrist and forced Merlin to turn to face him. "What are you on about—you _forced_ me?"

"You know," Merlin said, miserable, and stared at his feet. "With my—I made you want to."

"Oh, so we're acknowledging the sorcery bit now, are we?" Arthur asked. "Is that why Gaius told me you were sick?"

"Yes," Merlin said. His heart was pounding. "And we—we've fixed it now, so you needn't be concerned that I'll do it again, and I truly am sorry, sire, you must believe that I never intended—"

"You are completely hopeless," Arthur said. He hadn't let go of Merlin's wrist, and now he raised it to his face and kissed the palm of Merlin's hand. Merlin stared at him, bewildered, and Arthur smirked and said, "You overestimate your abilities."

"I—I do?" Merlin asked, and Arthur pulled him closer and kissed him, and Merlin did the only thing he could, which was to wrap his arms around Arthur's neck and kiss him back.

THE END


End file.
